


Cold War - Red Hot

by SophiaRex



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 80s AU, Atomic Blonde AU, Blow Jobs, F/M, I can't promise no one will die, Klance?, LOTS AND LOTS OF VIOLENCE, M/M, Oral Sex, Violence, maybe? - Freeform, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaRex/pseuds/SophiaRex
Summary: "How well do you know Takashi Shirogane?""Enough to say hello.""He's dead."On November 9, 1989, the Berlin Wall came down and a new era of global politics began. This is not that story. This is the story of a Cold War that's about to burn out and one man in East Berlin, trying to find out what happened to the love of his life.





	Cold War - Red Hot

London - October 1989

Keith pulls his lighter out of his red peacoat as he steps out of the cab. He doesn’t move towards the white stone building covered in imperialist columns until he takes a full drag and tucks the lighter back in his coat pocket. Then he makes his way up the marble stairs, black combat boots impervious to the omnipresent damp of London’s streets. 

He breezes past the security checkpoint in the lobby with the guards only flicking their eyes up to him and away again. They know who he is. They know not to impede him. Keith continues to work on his cigarette as he takes a flight of stairs and makes his way down the hall. 

When he opens the door to the office, Iverson is already lounging comfortably in a chair with his personal assistant standing at his side. Keith never bothered to remember the kissass’s name. 

“Ah, Kogane, come in and have a seat,” Iverson waves towards the other leather chair across from him. 

“Commander,” he nods and doesn’t bother saluting before plopping in the chair and throwing a foot over the knee of his other leg and resting both elbows on the arms of the chair. He stubs out his cigarette in the cut crystal ashtray on the side table next to him. 

The PA hands Iverson a file and he opens it, reading off the front page. “Keith Kogane... “ he muses. “Code name, Cherry Bomb. Expert in escape and evasion, including evasive driving. Proficient in intelligence collection and hand to hand combat. That’s an impressive set of skills for someone so young.” He looks over the top of the folder at Keith.

“Talents can be overrated,” Keith answers. 

“Have yours been?” Iverson asks.

“Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” Keith snaps, pulling his hair out of his face with a gloved hand.

“Kogane, how well do you know Takashi Shirogane?” Commander Iverson asks. 

“Enough to say hello,” Keith answers. He stares directly into Iverson’s single eye and leans back into his chair, ignoring the memory of that last lazy morning in Tangier that had decided to play through the back of his mind just then. Now is clearly not the time to remember how Shiro’s skin glowed like bronze in the sun that poured through the french doors of the balcony, or how his breath would halt whenever Keith whispered Takashi… into the soft skin of his neck.

“He’s dead,” Iverson says, handing him the file folder. Keith takes it, face remaining neutral as he begins to flip through the contents. Papers, backstory, dossiers on contacts. “He was stationed in East Berlin. Last we heard, he was in possession of a package that contained potentially explosive information. Then another agent found his burned out car at the edge of the city. Most of the body was obliterated, except for one arm that must have been outside the car during the explosion. Prints matched Shirogane’s though.” 

“You’ll be posing as his brother.” Keith smirks at that. “In Berlin to collect his effects. All the details of his cover and yours are in the file. Memorize everything in it and leave it in this office. Your primary contact over there is an American named Lance McClain. He’s been in deep cover on the East side for about four years now and he’s gone a bit… native… but nobody knows the seedy underbelly of Berlin better than McClain. He’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“So, what’s not in the file?” Keith asks, closing it and looking back up at Iverson. 

Iverson doesn’t respond for a moment.

“We wouldn’t be meeting in person unless you had something to tell me that couldn’t be written down,” Keith says, meeting Iverson stare for stare. “You would have just sent your lacky.”

Iverson waves said lacky out of the office. As the door clicks behind him, Iverson sighs through his nose. “The package that Shirogane had was a microfiche with the identity of every agent MI6 and the CIA have stationed across Europe. Obviously, we wouldn’t want the Russians getting their hands on something like that at such a sensitive time.”

“Obviously,” Keith responds.

“It also reportedly contains the identity of Satchel, a mole that the CIA’s had embedded in the KGB for years. If Satchel’s made, he and a lot of other good men and women are going to die. Now, I’m not saying that we’re conducting counter-intelligence on the CIA, but given the rapidly changing political climate, Satchel’s identity is of great interest to the Crown. Get the file and get it back to London and you may just find yourself having tea with the Queen. And of course, make sure McClain doesn’t get his hands on it.”

“Understood,” Keith answers. 

“I’ll leave you to finish reading the rest. Then go home and pack. You fly out tomorrow afternoon,” Iverson says. He pats Keith shoulder on his way out and Keith manages to not flinch at the unwanted physical contact. 

 

East Berlin - October 1989

Waking up sandwiched between two blonde, naked, German bitches was Lance’s favorite way to start a morning. His hangover was mild. The flat reeked of reefer and sex and the bottle of spatburgunder on the floor next to his bed still had a few swigs left in it. Now if only whoever was outside his door right now would stop with the infernal knocking. 

“Oh for fuckssake! I’m coming!” he hollered, grabbing the wine bottle as he clambered out from under the sheets. He took a swig, grabbed a cotton robe to drape over his naked body and stumbled towards the door. 

“Lance! Open up!” Fuck, it was Gunderson. Lance moved quicker and opened the door before completely tying his robe. 

A short, androgynous punk kid with coke-bottle glasses and a mop of short, dirty blonde hair rushed into his flat. 

“Ohmygod, put some fucking clothes on,” they said, blocking their gaze from his lower half with an outstretched hand and turning away. 

“What the hell, Gunderson?” Lance growled, his voice still gravelly with sleep. He tied his robe with a sloppy knot that only barely managed to hold it closed over his narrow hips. One long leg still peaked out where the fabric slouched open. “You’re not supposed to even know where I live, let alone show up here at the asscrack of dawn.”

“I know everything, asshole, that’s why I’m in this mess, remember?” 

Lance took another swig of wine and glared down at them, “No, you’re in this mess because you ask too many fucking questions.” He poked them in the chest with an outstretched index finger as the rest of his hand clasped the neck of the bottle. “But now you’re going to answer mine. Why the fuck are you here in my flat?” 

“Someone tried to follow me home from uni last night,” they answered, tucking tiny hands into the pockets of their oversized leather jacket, covered in buttons and studs. 

“So you brought them here?!?” Lance managed to screech and whisper at the same time. There were still two naked hoes in his bed only a few yards away after all. 

“Of course not, you idiot!” Gunderson said. “I lost them hours ago, but I still haven’t gone home. They can do whatever they want to me, but I can’t lead those bastards right to my mom. She’s all I’ve got left. I don’t know what to do, man. I think they know I’m the leak! I can’t stay in the East any more. I’m going to end up a burned cinder in some back alley, just like Silver!” 

“No one’s getting blown up,” Lance soothed, running his hands along their shoulders, gently pressing them down from where they were hunched up by freckled ears. “Do you have the package with you?” 

“No, I have it hidden somewhere safe, but I don’t know if I can get to it again without them seeing me.”

“Shit,” Lance sighed. “Well, that makes things more complicated.” 

“Not really,” Gunderson says and points at their forehead. “It’s all up here. I have the whole list memorized.” 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“I shit you not. Genius, remember?” They finally crack a smile. Lance clasps both of their cheeks in his hands and kisses their forehead. 

“Gunderson, you beautiful freak. This could work,” he says, leading them into the kitchen area of the flat and grabbing a notepad from his junk drawer. The now empty wine bottle lands in an already overflowing trash bin. “Okay, I have the beginnings of a plan. I’ve got ends to tie up and I have to go pick up Silver’s replacement from the airport this afternoon. Meanwhile, you need to lie low somewhere that’s not here.” 

He scribbles an address on the notepad, rips off the sheet and hands it to Gunderson. “I know a guy, Hunk. He’s at this address. Take this.” He unclasps a gold cross necklace from around his neck and drops it into their outstretched palm. “Tell him Blue’s going to owe him like four rounds at Palace Saimin for this one. He’ll let you crash in his safe house and feed you until I can come pick you up.” 

Gunderson pockets the necklace carefully in their black jeans. “What about my mom?” they ask. “We can’t leave her here when all this goes down, and I’m not leaving without her.” 

“Fuuuuuuuck…” Lance groans and runs both hands down his face. It is too damn early for this. “Okay, I don’t know how we’re going to manage that, but I’ll get her across too. Just leave that to me. I’ll work out the details later. Now, you’ve got to leave before my sexy house guests get up. Okay?” 

Gunderson looks at him, “You’re disgusting, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, and I still don’t think you actually have a plan, but you’re my only chance of getting out of this hellhole alive, so fine.” 

As soon as Lance closes the door behind them, he sighs and rests his head against the flaking paint. His head is pounding with a combination of hangover and stress. He needs a joint, and hopefully a blowjob if one of the blonde bitches is willing before he kicks them out. This day is going to suck. 

 

London - October 1989

Keith keeps it together until he’s back in his own flat on the East End of London. He just lets his overcoat fall off his shoulders and lay on the floor where it lands. He peels off his scarf and pullover too before he collapses into his bed that’s big enough for two but has only slept one for longer than he cares to admit. For a few moments, he just lies, facedown, boots still on, letting memories finally overwhelm his mind. 

_“Red suits you, Cherry Bomb,” Shiro says, coming up behind him and running both thumbs along the waistband of Keith’s bright red briefs. Keith leans both hands against either side of the doorframe that leads to the balcony as Shiro mouths gently at his shoulder._

_The skyline of Tangier blurs into white and gold morning light as Keith’s eyes flutter closed. He can smell the sea from here. That and the deep, musky scent of Shiro that he swears has seeped into his own skin by now._

_“I don’t want you to go,” Keith finally lets him say._

_“I have to,” Shiro answers, wrapping one arm around Keith’s stomach and the other over his shoulders. Keith lets go of the door and slumps against Shiro’s broad chest. Shiro kisses the back of Keith’s head and breathes in deeply. “You’re making it more difficult than usual, I’ll admit.”_

_Keith turns around in Shiro’s arms and runs his hands down Shiro’s back. Shiro tilts his head up to kiss Keith’s temple then hunches down to plant one on his lips too. Keith kisses back hesitantly, not looking up when they break away. Needing eye contact, Shiro runs both his hands through Keith’s hair and tilts his head up to look at him._

_“Hey, we just need to be patient. Everything is absolute chaos right now. Who knows, depending on how all this shakes out, they may not even need us on active assignment in a few months,” Shiro says, trying to sooth the frown lines away from Keith’s forehead with his words. Keith stares into his dark eyes and smiles slightly._

_“Patient, yeah sure,” Keith says, rolling his eyes._

_“Well, patience yields focus,” Shiro says, smirking._

_“Oh my god, shut up, you ass,” Keith snaps and shoves Shiro away, but he can’t help chuckling. Shiro stumbles back slightly and rubs at his shoulder where Keith shoved. Shiro laughs as he tries to dodge a few more of Keith’s half hearted punches._

_“I’ve changed my mind. You can just fuck off right now. Get out of here. I have no idea why I would want you to stick around,” Keith presses Shiro further into the bedroom until his legs are pressed against the mattress. He can’t keep the cheeky smile off his face as Shiro gets a grip on both of his wrists and pulls him close._

_“I don’t know, you must love me or something,” Shiro murmurs, face only an inch or two away from Keith’s._

_“Fuck off,” Keith tries to pout, but the corner of his mouth twitches until he breaks into a grin and locks lips with Shiro._

_Suddenly, he’s flying through the air and landing on soft, cotton sheets. Shiro climbs on top of him and presses kisses into the skin of his stomach, just above his pelvis._

_“Not yet,” Shiro says between kisses. “I still have some unfinished business with you…”_

_Two hands pull at those red briefs until his erection pops free. Keith groans and his back arches as Shiro sits up to toss the underwear onto the floor and then leans back in, settling between Keith’s legs and taking him in his mouth. Keith feels a warm tongue circle his tip as Shiro’s warm wet mouth takes more and more of him in. He buries his fingers in Shiro's hair and pulls as he thrusts his hips up._

_The vibration of Shiro’s moan around his cock makes him see stars. This isn't going to take long, and Keith wishes it would go on forever. Shiro takes him even deeper and he feels throat muscles pull at his tip and a tongue pressed against his base and he just fucking loses it._

_He writhes beneath Shiro, hips bucking against his lover’s face, hands still entwined in his hair. He’s completely lost control of his voice and he doesn't care who in this hotel hears him cry, “Shiro! Takashi! OhfuckfuckFUCK… Ta ...kashi ...ungh ...yes … oh my fucking god…”_

_Shiro’s fingers dig into the muscular flesh of Keith’s ass, and he keeps his mouth open and tongue slack so Keith can freely fuck his mouth until the thrusting halts and Keith trembles as he thrusts a final time and pours cum down Shiro’s throat. His brain produces test patterns like a dormant television channel as Shiro licks up stray drops of cum that slipped down his shaft. ___

_Panting, Keith releases Shiro’s hair and presses the back of his hand to his own mouth. Shiro gently kisses Keith’s thigh and then presses his cheek into the toned, muscular flesh. Jolts of fire rush up his spine and down his toes and Keith fucking trembles from overstimulation._

_“I love you, baby,” Shiro whispers, closing his eyes and clasping the outside of each thigh in his broad palms._

_Keith clamps his eyes tight and tries to steady his breathing. Shiro can't see him cry like this._

Finally coming up for air, Keith shoves himself up from the mattress and inhales sharply. Tears wet his eyelashes as he struggles to calm his breathing. 

He stumbles into the kitchen and fills a short tumbler with ice from the freezer. Making his way to the drink cart, he opens a half-finished bottle of vodka and pours himself a generous helping. His hand shakes slightly as he takes a big swallow and exhales out of his nose. 

Shiro is dead.

Literally blown off the face of the Earth.

And he’s left to clean up the mess.

Fucking again.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the Atomic Blonde AU that I'm pretty sure only I was clamoring for. I was compelled. I had feelings.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @rexsophiarex


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